Sharp and Pointy Things: A Tale of Machismo
by Asenath
Summary: "Takes some bravery to trust another man to put something on your body that can never come off." (chapter 2)
1. In the Kitchen with Sanji

"Roronoa Zoro does not peel potatoes." 

"Then Roronoa Zoro can get the hell out of my kitchen." 

Sanji's patience was growing as thin as the sole fillets he had laid out before him. They were not even a day out from Little Garden; the sky was just beginning to darken; dinner was not yet served, and already too-familiar quarters were beginning to chafe. 

In retrospect, it all began with the rum. 

It must have been a leftover from Roguetown. Several bottles of it had been well-stashed behind some food supplies and various Usopp-acquired gadgetry; and it was only when Nami had decided to do a thorough inventory of their supplies that they had noticed it. The discovery seemed a reason to celebrate, but then, any day was a reason to celebrate that they were still alive, around these parts. Alone in each other's company, they had all felt comfortable enough to imbibe. 

Nami had been telling a story--mostly to Luffy and Vivi, who seemed the most interested to hear--about her time with Arlong. The rum, it seemed, had loosened her tongue somewhat about those topics she usually kept most dear to her heart, and everyone--well, almost everyone--had the respect to at least keep their mouths shut while she reminisced. 

Until, of course, a certain swordsman had felt the need to be bone-headed, as per usual. Stretched out on his back, more involved in trying to catch a nap then listening, he interrupted with, "If you're feeling in a sharing mood, why don't you share some of those oranges up there." He gestured to the poop deck, where Nami's miniature grove of mandarin oranges was in fruit. 

She laughed it off, at first. "We've got plenty of food. You don't need to touch those." Glaring down at him, she added, "And I'll cut off your hands if you try." 

"Cut off my hands, eh?" 

With a smirk, she replied, "It would go well with your feet, now, wouldn't it?" 

"Isn't that what they do to _thieves_, in some places?" Zoro continued. 

Nami blinked. "Are you implying something?" she asked, deceptively innocent in her tone. 

"Nah, not really. Only that you'd see us all dead of scurvy before you gave up anything you owned." 

The smile she'd been wearing faded a little, as she looked more uncertain, now, that Zoro was just kidding around. More serious now, she added, "If you really feel that way, then why did you help me, back at Arlong Park?" 

Zoro, with a bit too much of a satisfied smile, gestured in Luffy's direction. "Captain's orders." 

Nami turned expectantly to Lufffy. Not realizing the gravity his words held, Luffy replied, "That's right. Zoro was a big help." He followed it up with a grin. 

Shrieks followed. Either they were Nami's, or man, did Zoro and Luffy scream like girls. 

Sensing that this was something that could only end in pain, Sanji had escaped to the kitchen. Food would cheer them, and, more importantly, he thought he might find himself alone for a spell, since no one else on this ship could, given a frying pan and something to cook in it, fend for themselves. 

He did not expect that Zoro would follow him, with the lame excuse that he had to check on the meat that he had worked so hard to catch for them at Little Garden. It was unlike him to show a sudden interest in cooking, but then, it was also unlike him to goad Nami quite so much. The red flush to his face betrayed what might be wrong. 

Zoro didn't often drink to excess--it had been his clear-headedness at Whiskey Peak that had saved them, after all--but there seemed some logic in it this time. It didn't take a genius to notice that he was walking with a limp; the butchering he had done to his feet on Little Garden was more of an impedance than he cared to note. And Sanji certainly wasn't the only one noticing that every morning, Zoro could be found changing the bandages on the wound he had received from Mihawk. What had been a terrible wound had certainly improved since that time in East Blue; but it was still not yet completely scarred over. 

Luffy was right. They did need a doctor. In the meantime, it seemed, Zoro had decided to self-medicate. 

But if the man was going to stand around in Sanji's kitchen, drunk or no, in pain or no, he was going to be put to work. It was a Zeff philosophy which Sanji had no compunction about adopting. Peeling potatoes seemed just the way to start--as Sanji himself had, years ago--even if Zoro seemed to think that peeling potatoes impugned his manhood. 

Sanji threw him a paring knife. It landed, point down, in the wooden cutting board where Zoro stood. "If you're planning on staying, use this." 

Zoro eyed it with some suspicion. "This tiny thing?" 

"I would think Mihawk had taught you the lesson that size doesn't matter?" When that was met with silence, Sanji returned to the more pressing job of filleting the sole. "I thought so." 

"Why do they even need to be peeled?" 

"There are some chefs who prefer the rustic taste of skins in their mashed potatoes. Frankly, I think it's rather crude. So, uh, feel free to get to work." When still no sounds of skins being parted from potatoes met Sanji's ears, he turned back around to look meaningfully in Zoro's direction. "Any time you feel up to the challenge." 

Zoro looked as if he were being put to the most odious task this world could muster. But he began peeling, muttering some comments that sounded suspiciously like, "Damn your pansy-ass refined palate." At least, Sanji hoped, he should show some facility with a knife. 

Sanji had filleted the sole, and was beginning to bread it, when the slicing sounds stopped. "I'm done." 

"That was quick." He turned around, wiping his hands on a dish towl. In the bowl in front of Zoro, stood one, very sad, dirty, and butchered-looking potato. Sanji eyed the potato, then Zoro. "I need more than one. Hence the peeling _potatoes_, plural." 

Zoro didn't know quite how to take the news. He simply looked mournfully, and with some confusion, in Sanji's direction. 

Sanji sighed, and continued. "And it would help if you sliced a bit more delicately. You're wasting a lot of potato. And wash them and cut them up before you put them in the bowl." 

"I'm just supposed to know this?" 

"Yes, goddammit! Have you never been in a kitchen before? Wait, don't answer that." Sanji sighed, dug in the pocket of his apron for a cigarette. Nothing more remained there but the twisted and bent remains of his last one, hurriedly stubbed out only hours before. 

It would do. Sticking it in his mouth, he pointed at the barrel of potatoes. "I should need about fifteen or so. Get peeling." Damn. No lighter. Well, having the stick there would at least be a meager comfort until he could track down a lighter. 

Zoro balked at the simple order. 

Sanji shrugged. "You could just leave." 

"There are reasons why I'd rather not do that." 

_Yeah, if I were you, I'd stay away from the people you've offended for a while._ "Suit yourself." Now, back to the sole. 

More slicing. He heard Zoro walking to the sink in the corner of the kitchen; heard footsteps pause. Did he dare to ask? "Need something?" 

"You said wash them?" 

"Yeah." 

"With soap?" 

_With soap?_ It took Sanji a lot of willpower to keep himself from laughing as he replied, ".... no, without soap." 

Washing, then cutting. Then sounds of slicing again. It seemed Zoro had set into a nice rhythm. See, even he wasn't hopeless. One could be taught these things- 

The peace didn't last long. 

After the last round of washing, instead of the usual slow rythmic chopping he had come to expect, the staccato sound of rapid knife strokes met his ears. Sanji turned around out of sheer curiousity. 

Zoro had his hand laid flat over one of the potatoes, and his method of cutting seemed to have "evolved"--if you could call it that--to involve bringing the paring knife down, rapidly, between each finger. It looked impressive--especially since he managed to suffer no injury to himself-- but it was doing no more than shredding the potato to bits. 

Zoro grinned up at Sanji, like a child infinitely proud of his handy work. "Bet you can't do this." 

Sanji just rolled his eyes. "Spare the fucking potatoes. We have to eat those, and I don't want bloody swordsman all over them." 

"Chicken." 

"I doubt that you'd want to eat Usopp's cooking all the way to Alabaster if I were to damage my hands." 

"Come on." 

Sanji grabbed the paring knife from Zoro's hands. "You," he muttered around his cigarette, "are acting like an even bigger bastard than you usually do, and I can only hope that you don't remember any of this later on." 

"What's that?" 

"I said, watch me kick your ass, shithead." He pushed the already mutilated potato out of the way. 

It was an easy task for a chef, really. He had long ago perfected the art of cutting at a fast pace without danger to himself, and this was no different, except that he was using the tip of the blade rather than the edge. Six staccato descents of the blade later, he stood unharmed, handing the blade back to Zoro. "Right. Back to work." 

Zoro shook his head. "I think I've mastered this blade. Let's have a bigger one?" 

Sanji raised an eyebrow. He was about to tell Zoro to calm down and get back to peeling, when the door of the kitchen opened. 

It was Nami. She looked quite surprised to see Zoro there; and after an initial glance, did a careful job of ignoring him entirely. She did turn that wonderful smile of hers in Sanji's direction, though. "Sanji. Tomorrow, third watch, you're on. Think you can manage?" 

He gave her a smart little salute. "This sailor is always at your service, Miss Nami." 

She nodded, gave him a little smile, and left. 

Silence reigned for a moment. Finally, Zoro spoke, "Man. Does she lead you around by the balls or what?" 

_All right. That's enough_. Sanji managed to smile. "You're right. Let's try a bigger knife." He reached across to the block where he kept all his knives and grabbed a larger one; one of the ones he used to cut vegetables and meat. It was a standard chef's knife; the blade was at least twice as long as that of the paring knife, and, like any good chef, Sanji prided himself on keeping it as sharp as he could manage in these primitive conditions. "You start." 

Zoro did not seem daunted, but then, sharp and pointy things were as much his forte, too. Therein lie the appeal in undertaking this little pissing contest; Sanji couldn't pass up the notion of besting Zoro at his own game. 

Six plunges of the knife, no severed fingers. Zoro had somehow managed to increase his speed, as well. He showed a surprising excess of agility for a drunk man. With a cocky smile, he handed the knife back to Sanji. 

This was still Sanji's game; and he managed to beat Zoro's time with no damage to his fingers. 

Zoro nodded in solemn appreciation of skill. And then, with an impish grin, he asked, "Got anything bigger?" 

"There's always the cleaver." 

Despite an inital run of luck, it seemed that Zoro's tipsiness had caught up with him. Thirty seconds later, the swordsman was sucking on his bloody finger. "Fucking sway of the ship. Caught me right on a downswing." 

_It's not like you to make excuses._ Sanji smiled, secretly pleased that he had caught Zoro at a disadvantage. "It seems that if you're looking for the title of greatest swordsman, you're going to have to take up the claim with me--and a few root vegetables--first." He looked down into the bowl, noticing a taint of red beginning to infect the soft flesh of the potatoes there. "You've bled on the potatoes." He could have taken the time to be angry; thrown the bowl back at Zoro and insisted he start over, this time without the intervention of games of sport. 

Instead, remembering the number of times he'd cut himself and bled on the food--and the lack of ill effect it evidenced on the crew--he shook the bowl, tossing the potatoes around until the red disappeared. "Well, there's the seasoning for tonight." 

Zoro chuckled. "You don't think our companions will mind swordsman-flavored potatoes?" 

Sanji shook his head, made an approbative clucking noise. "Oh, of course not. Call them potatoes _au guerrier_. They'll never know the difference." 

-- 

_A/N: On romanizations: I am well aware that I am using nonstandard romanizations for some of the One Piece place names. My philosophy with romanizations is to always try to get at what the author actually meant to say. Hence, "Roguetown," since it seems a much more accurate a description of the place than "Loguetown." My justification in using "Alabaster" is weaker; which is that "Alabaster" seems like the word that Oda-sensei might have been grasping at. Weak justification? Perhaps. Feel free to romanize how you like, I won't criticize. _

I am well aware, too, that the common consensus on the word "mikan" is "tangerine," but I've heard from a number of people Who Know These Things that this isn't an accurate translation. Even the online Japanese-English dictionary I use marks it as "mandarin orange" instead. 

"Guerrier," by the way, is the French word for "warrior." 

Also, since this is my first time writing anything outside of the dark world of Hellsing fic, commentary is greatly appreciated. 


	2. Passage to Elmar

_The passage to Elmar shouldn't take more than a day. We'll be there in the morning_. Nami and Vivi, after some conferring, had announced this to the crew. Most of them had been too drunk to notice at the time, so busy were they "celebrating Ace's arrival on the crew." Ace had had to shout a few times that he actually wasn't joining, and had a crew and a captain of his own, thank you very much, before anyone really noticed what he was saying, but it made little difference in the final consumption of alcohol. Even he had joined in the festivities, and, before the close of the evening, he too was lying on the boards of the main deck, asleep where he had fallen. 

It seemed to Sanji that everyone was asleep but him. He had dozed, for a time, but he found himself unable to sleep for more than a half-hour at a stretch. He still wasn't used to the heat of this country, a heat which didn't seem to abate despite their distance from land. 

Instead, he got up, climbed over the sleeping bodies around him, and made his way to the railing to have a quiet smoke and enjoy the view. 

Vivi had been right. The stars here were brighter and the skies wider than any other place they had been on their long journey. The heat did not settle after the long day; and instead it shimmered in waves above the land. Here and there, lights dotted the coast; farther in the distance still were the lights of Nanohana, from which they had come. The direction they were headed was surprisingly dark--nothing but sand and ocean and the river that split Alabaster in two lay before them. 

Cigarette finished, he flicked the butt of it into the swirling ocean below him, and sought a cooler place to complete his evening rest. Perhaps their cabins? He headed in that direction, but found that they had trapped the heat of the day more effectively than any other place on the ship. No wonder no one else had deigned to sleep there that night. 

He looked up, to the upper deck, with its miniature grove of oranges. Normally, that was off-limits to the crew, but with Nami currently demonstrating her prodigious snoring abilities with her cheek flat to the deck, he doubted she would mind. It, at least, had been sheltered from the heat of the day and still cooled by the evening's breezes. He made his way up the stairs, a twinge of guilt nagging at him the whole way. _It's not like I'm going to eat any of the oranges, or anything_. That calmed his worries about betraying dear Nami--at least a little bit. 

He was almost looking forward to his time alone, without the pressing bodies of the rest of the crew around him, when he noticed that someone else had beaten him there, and was hunched down against one of the trees, shadowed by leaves, eating--what a sacrilege!--one of Nami's treasured oranges. 

"Hey, you're not supposed to be up here," Sanji said, pitching his voice low enough to avoid waking anyone else up. The best path now, was to look like he intended to check on the sanctity of the grove. 

"Neither are you." The voice was lower than he had anticipated. But then, what had he expected? Well, Usopp, or Luffy, perhaps, with their stomachs that always seemed empty, had been better candidates than _Zoro_. 

And certainly, no one had ever expected the same kind of insomnia that Sanji was suffering out of _Zoro_, of all people. 

Sanji was almost ready to be incensed, when he remembered that it didn't matter--Nami wasn't around to impress, at the moment. "What brings you up here?" 

Zoro took a moment to spit an orange pip out. "I was on watch. It's hot, I was hungry--seemed a good idea at the time. I didn't think you'd be out being the Love Police at this hour." 

"Cut the crap. I'm not going to bust your ass for a measly orange, not while she's asleep." 

"Ah, so it's only worth being nice to her when she's around." Zoro nodded, tried to look wise. "Some would call that dishonest." 

"I certainly hope not the man stealing oranges." 

Zoro reached out, grabbed another orange, and tossed it to Sanji, who deftly caught it. "Here, this should keep your mouth shut for a bit." 

"Doesn't seem to have worked with you." 

Zoro just gave him a look that dared Sanji to continue that line of conversation. 

Tossing the orange in his hand, considering what to do with stolen goods, Sanji continued more softly, "Though, since you bring it up, you really should go gentler on Nami. She's had a hard time." 

"Haven't we all." Zoro, his meal finished, peels and pips discarded, leaned back against the tree that hid him. "I heard you nearly starved to death, once. Seems a bit rougher than forced mapmaking, doesn't it? 

_You're forgetting the dead loved ones_. But Zoro knew all about that firsthand, himself? Admitting such a thing might put them on equal footing. "I see you're brimming with sympathy for her plight." 

No response. 

"You don't trust her, do you?" 

"I don't trust _women_. It's nothing personal." 

Sanji had to admit a bit of a smile at that. "That would explain how you've behaved towards every woman who's come on this ship." 

"Doesn't help that every woman who's come on this ship has at one point tried to kill us, betray us, or steal our gold." 

Though he suspected it would come to naught, Sanji still tried to reason. "That's not fair to Vivi. She was playing a part. And Nami... well, you know what that all was for. Can you blame her? You've known her longer than you've known me, and yet you still don't treat her quite the same as everyone else on the crew. Oh, sure, you've saved her ass on plenty of occasions, like you have all of us, but that doesn't change how you treat her when she's not in-" 

"I'm working on it." Zoro closed his eyes at this, looking like he was working on nothing so much as sleep. 

Sanji peered over the railing to make sure that they were still both safe from Nami's wrath. Snores still rose from their huddled crewmates, and with some relief, he decided that the orange in his hand must be disposed of safely, before Nami ever found out about it. She loved her grove, but he doubted she hand-counted the oranges, one by one. 

The safest way to dispose of it, was, of course, to eat it. As he stood there peeling it, he looked to Zoro. "Hey, what do you think of this Ace?" 

Zoro didn't look in the mood for conversation. "He's Luffy's brother. What more do I need to know?" 

Sanji shook his head. "See, you trust _him_ just because Luffy says so-" 

"You know, our captain may not be the brightest light in the Grand Line, but I trust him to know who his own brother is." 

"Dunno. With Mr. 2 around," Sanji mused, "he could do a mighty fine impersonation-" 

"I trust Luffy. End of story. Besides, Ace won't be with us for long." 

"Yeah." Sanji leaned back over the railing. He may have just proven Zoro's unfair bias against Nami--or against women in general, if what he said was true--but there didn't seem to be much he could do about it. Instead, he eyed their recent object of conversation. "Ace certainly seems more _helpful_ than anyone on this crew." He'd never had anyone offer to _help_ with _dishes_. That was a stunning revelation. "What do you think of that tattoo?" 

"What, the one on his back? It's Whitebeard's symbol. Haven't we had this conversation before?" 

"No, I meant the one on his arm. You notice the misspelling? How do you think that happened?" 

Zoro smiled a bit, dared to open his eyes a slit. "A bad tattoo artist?" 

Sanji responded in kind with a wider smile. "Nah, see, I think he got drunk and forgot how to spell his own name. When he got sober again, probably had to have one of his crew fix it." He popped a slice of orange in his mouth, chewing while he considered. 

Zoro, surprisingly, rose to the occasion. "Here's an idea: he got the tattoo artist really angry, and the guy started to write 'ass.' 'Course, then he put that fire fist to work, and that was the end of that." 

Sanji chuckled. "Takes some bravery to trust another man to put something on your body that can never come off." 

Zoro's eyes popped open at that; he looked suddenly alert, almost as if ready for battle. _He can go from zero to homicidal in no time, can't he?_ "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I mean, first of all, you have to know that there's something that you want etched forever on your skin. I mean, look what happened to Nami--stuck with a tattoo for a man she hated. Thankfully she managed to turn it into something else." He decided that keeping the topic of conversation away from Nami might be a good idea for the moment, and so turned to his next point. "That aside, you have to actually trust the person doing it to carry it out the way you want it. " 

Zoro sat back again, looking to resume sleep since the promise of exhibiting real bravery was not as close as he had hoped. "That's not bravery. That's stupidity." 

"If that's the case, then why don't you have a whole slew of tattoos?" 

The fighting look appeared again, this time subdued by sleepiness. "You calling me stupid?" 

"No, I'm wondering if you're brave enough, actually," Sanji said, innocently enough, although at the moment an idea was forming his mind. He could never pass up an opportunity to goad Zoro, now, could he? "Ah, but there's no reason why you should need a tattoo, now, is there? Looks like you're feeling nappish, anyw-" 

Zoro was standing up, that battle-ready look in his eyes, that smirk on his face again. "Give me a tattoo." 

Sanji was a little startled at this sudden revelation. "Why should _I_? Usopp's the artist around here, ask him." Sanji was about to turn away. His idea turned against him looked more.... onerous, by the minute. 

Zoro grabbed his arm. "You think I'm going to let Usopp near me with something sharp and pointy?" 

"So you trust me?" 

Zoro looked away, looking not quite ready to admit something like that. "No. I'm just brave." 

"Or stupid." When Zoro looked like he might turn that battle-ready look towards more violent purposes, Sanji was quick to point out, "Hey, you said it, dumbass." 

*** 

Sanji had a sharp needle, pulled from a collection of sailmaker's needles that he found in the hold. It had been sterilized in the flame of the candle that now stood beside them, making flickering shadows in the kitchen where they had found themselves. He had a towel beside him, ready to sop up the inevitable blood. He had a bottle of ink, filched from Nami's writing desk (ah! His second trangression tonight. Serious penances would have to be made). 

And then there was Zoro, spread out on the table Sanji usually used to do his vegetable cutting, shirtless, looking as if he would sleep through this whole procedure. 

Well, if anyone was going to sleep through an assault with a needle and some failed art skills, it was Zoro. 

"What's on the menu, chef?" Zoro muttered. "What are you going to give me?" 

"Dunno. I thought about 'I [heart] sergeant majors;' how does that sound?" 

"Like you need me to stick that needle through your ear." 

"Don't worry, I'll think of something appropriately terrible. Now, roll over." 

If Zoro looked terrified at the notion of Sanji having carte blanche to write what he liked on the blank slate of his back, he was hiding it very well. He was, after all, very brave. 

Sanji, on the other hand, was beginning to realize that there was no way to manage this without being uncomfortably close to Zoro. He leaned over the other man's back, catching himself with his arm on the opposite site of the table. He caught a whiff of sweat as he did. "You stink." 

"It's hot!" Zoro fairly growled. "You don't smell like a rose yourself, there, shithead. You smell a lot like garlic and the fish we had for dinner, and you're pretty goddamn sweaty yourself. Tell me, does Nami like the smell of cooking-" 

"You leave her out of this." Sanji was swabbing his back with rubbing alcohol now--filched from Chopper, that, but he doubted, somehow, the good doctor would mind about his medical supplies the way Nami did about her mapmaking supplies. "What _do_ you have against women, anyway? Just out of curiousity." 

"Who said I had anything against women?" 

Sanji paused, a little unbelieving. "You did." 

"Oh. Right. Because I don't chase after every single one of them like you do." 

Sanji gritted his teeth. _I do not chase after_ every _one_. A lot of them? Maybe. He hadn't counted how many tries and failures he'd had since he left the Baratie. "Something like that. So why?" 

"Because.... you can't depend on them." 

Sanji shrugged, once again tried to reason with Zoro. "I dunno. If we hadn't had Nami, we wouldn't have made it this far. She's pretty dependable, at least once she got that Arlong thing out of the way. 

"They're weak." 

Done swabbing, Sanji put the alcohol aside and reached for the needle and ink. "In a fight? Sure, I guess that's true of Nami and Vivi. Compared to us, at least. So's Usopp. I don't notice you giving him the cold shoulder quite so often, though." 

"They die." 

_That_ made Sanji pause. He knew, had known almost since he met Zoro, in that ill-fated fight with Mihawk, what propelled Zoro more than anything else. He didn't know quite how to respond to this, though, so he chose the obvious route. "We all die, Zoro," he answered softly. "Eventually." 

"Not so easily as women." Zoro's face was unreadable now, his eyes looking off in the direction of the door. 

Sanji thought to pause, but supposed that Zoro was most certainly not wanting or expecting breathing room. It all made him vaguely uncomfortable, all this talking about the past, and he imagined that Zoro didn't feel much better about it. 

Sanji thought for a moment, and then began tracing the pattern he had planned, lightly, over the skin of Zoro's upper back. He hadn't done this before, per se, but he had seen enough tattoos _done_ in his time aboard the Baratie. They didn't seem much more complicated than putting icing on a cake, and he was, after all, a fair pastry chef. 

A pattern laid out, Sanji made his first stab. "That hurt?" 

"Does what hurt?" Zoro mumbled, looking up. "Get started, already. It'll be dawn before you're finished." 

"I am getting started." It was silly to expect a reaction to a pinprick from a man who once tried to cut off his own feet. "I guess you really are just an all-around insensitive guy." 

Zoro smirked. "Is that what Nami would say?" 

Sanji rolled his eyes. "Didn't I ask you to leave her _out_ of this?" 

Zoro just ignored his words and moved on to the next topic. "So now I get to ask the questions--what is it with _you_ and women?" 

"Don't distract me." He had fallen quickly into a pattern, like he did when cutting vegetables. One pinprick, the welling of a drop of blood--though less than he expected--the wiping with the towel, and the return for more ink--each step followed another logically, and increasingly automatically. 

"I'm not distracting you," Zoro replied, with an evil grin. "I'm engaging you in your favorite topic." 

"What is it with me and women?" Sanji asked, not looking up from the pattern. "I'm 19. What is it with any 19-year-old guy and women?" 

Zoro seemed to think that over. "You don't have a chance to score with either of them, you know." 

"You're so fucking crass. You think that's all I'm after?" 

"You tell me that you're 19, and that explains why you chase after anything with hair longer than Luffy's, and yet you tell me that you're not in it for the tail. Right, I believe you." 

Sanji's hand tightened in anger, and the needle went deeper than he expected. The muscle beneath gave a twitch, but Zoro himself showed no sign that he had noticed. Trying to be rational, Sanji replied, "Can you honestly look at either of them and say that they don't make our life here on ship just a little brighter?" 

"I look. I just don't _fawn_." Zoro sighed. "I don't get you. Really, I don't. Do you really think that Nami gives a fuck about you? She's got one love, and that's gold. You are a penniless chef. You are nowhere in the equation. How much clearer can I make that to you?" 

Again an angered stab. The blood that welled from the wound was vaguely satisfying. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous of what we have." 

"You don't have shit." 

"I do have a cleaver not three inches from my left hand--if you want this tattoo cut a little deeper, that is." 

"Haven't we had this battle before? Back before Drum Island?" 

"And as I recall, you lost." 

"As I recall, I was drunk." 

"And now you're just hung over. _So_ much better." 

"I'm not hung over. I barely drank," Zoro muttered. "No, you see, I've thought about this a lot--you can't have much experience with women, if they cause you this much giddiness." 

Sanji was blushing. He turned away for a moment, opened the door of the kitchen, and looked out, hoping to avoid revealing his shame. The dawn was breaking before them; soon his crewmates would be demanding breakfast. 

"Your silence is pretty goddamn telling by itself." 

_I_ must _have a cigarette somewhere_. Groping for his apron that hung by the door, he pulled out a crumbled package which hid at least one more smoke. With his sudden fit of blushing gone, Sanji turned back, lit the cigarette in the flame of the candle. "Shut up. I'm having a smoke." 

"Look, do yourself a favor and don't break your own heart." 

"What the fuck," Sanji started, "do you know of it? You don't know anything more than I do about women." 

"No." Still lying flat on the table, Zoro let out a long breath. He looked as if he wasn't entirely eager to let this argument go. "But I do know that I want you to finish this tattoo so I can get off this fucking table before I stick to it with sweat." 

Sanji laughed. "Charm. You've got it in such abundance." Passing back to his station beside the ink and the abandoned needle, he stopped to pinch Zoro's cheek in a gesture of a doting grandmother. "I'm almost done. I just need to dot the final 'i' in 'Nami has nice tits.' " 

"Well, I knew you saw _something_ in her," Zoro muttered. 

When that did not elicit a response, and enough time had passed that Zoro's curiousity was piqued again, he asked again, "Seriously, what are you working on?" 

Sanji just smiled. "I've immortalized forever something that means a lot to you--Luffy's face." 

"Bullshit." 

More silence. More pinpricks. More drops of blood, slowly welling and being wiped away. A pattern forming. The dawn grew brighter through the opened door. Sanji thought he heard talking out on the deck, and realized it was Ace and Luffy having a low volume conversation. One, or both of them, would be wanting food, and shortly. 

"There, it's done." Sanji made a final swipe with the towel. "Now get off my table." 

Looking suspicious, Zoro rose, and hurried off in the direction of his quarters. 

Sanji didn't expect him gone long. True enough, he returned a few moments later, mirror in hand (_probably stole that from Nami or Vivi. And they call Nami the thief_), trying to position it just right to see the tattoo from over his left shoulder. Sanji, knowing that Zoro wouldn't ask for help himself, grabbed the mirror and positioned it correctly for the swordsman to see. 

Most of what was visible among the bunched muscles on Zoro's back was a red, raw mark that looked like a burn, but emerging from that, lighted by the rising sun over Zoro's right shoulder, was the design of three swords. "You like?" Sanji asked. 

Zoro grinned. "Yeah. You got the details, too--the patterns on the hilts, and you've even got a bit of reflection on the blades there. Pretty good." 

Sanji grinned himself. Well, those cake decorating skills had paid off, and not just in making expensive desserts that Nami ignored. "I'm pretty happy with it myself." 

Still twisting and turning, trying to catch the best angle in the mirror, Zoro said. "Makes me look fiersome." 

_Like you need a tattoo of swords to do that, when you've got the real thing and are built like you know how to use them_. "Yeah. Now you just need to go into battle with Mihawk back first." 

Sanji would have never called Zoro a vain man--cocky as hell, sure, but not _vain_--but over the course of the next weeks--as their journeys took them deeper into the deserts of Alabaster--he could have sworn that, now and again, he caught glimpses of Zoro trying to look at his own back. 

And if Nami occcasionally complained that there was _blood_ mixed with her _ink_, it was a small, small price to pay. 

-- 

_A/N: Thanks to Stacey for telling me everything I ever needed to know about tattoos (but was afraid to ask)._


End file.
